“On the 6th of September, 1620, in the Mayoralty of Thomas Fownes, after being “kindly entertained and courteously used by divers Friends there dwelling,” the Pilgrim Fathers sailed from Plymouth in the Mayflower in the Providence of God to settle in New Plymouth, and to lay the Foundation of the New England States. The ancient Cawsey whence they embarked was destroyed not many years afterwards, but the Site of their Embarkation is marked by the Stone bearing the name of the Mayflower in the pavement of the adjacent Pier. This Tablet was erected in the Mayoralty of J. T. Bond, 1891, to commemorate their Departure, and the visit to Plymouth in July of that Year of a number of their Descendants and Representatives.”
There were forty-eight men and fifty-three women and children in this little band, and the voyage occupied sixty days.
The spot means much to Americans, for here the handful of emigrants for conscience’ sake definitely cast adrift from their native land, which denied them religious liberty, and made oversea to the coast of Massachusetts, there to found a nation anew. The little Mayflower had sailed originally from Boston, in Lincolnshire, and bade farewell to old England from the coast of Devon; and thus it seemed fitting to those stern voluntary outcasts that they should—still fondly looking back to their motherland—name their landing-place in the new world “Plymouth Rock,” and the earliest among their settlements “Boston.” There was, therefore, an exquisite fitness in the circumstance that it was into this Boston harbour in America, a hundred and fifty-three years later, that the colonists should fling the taxed tea, and thus begin the struggle whence the dependent New England colonies emerged as the sovereign United States.
Our sympathies go out, historically, toward those Pilgrim Fathers, but they would seem, viewed closely, to have been not quite so lovable as historic glamour makes them. Their religious fervency was undoubted, but by all accounts it made them ill to live with, and they would have been greatly improved by a little sense of humour. But then—it is a startling thought—if humour had entered at all into their composition they had never left their native shores at all, and the stern principles which led them to refuse to acknowledge James I. as head of the Church, and to expatriate themselves when that shambling travesty of a king declared that if they did not conform, the country should not hold both, would have melted into satiric laughter and an easygoing compliance.
But two autocrats may not reign side by side; as easily might a soliloquy be conducted by two or more persons; and a king with a fondness for omniscience and absolutism, and a people whose religious fervency had risen almost to the white heat of fanaticism cannot abide together; hence the voyage of the Mayflower, and this place of pilgrimage for descendants of those New Englanders.
The greatest point of vantage in all Plymouth is the great open space beside the citadel.
It is the Hoe. What the Rialto was to Venice, what the Hard to Portsmouth, the Sandhill to Newcastle-on-Tyne, the Broomielaw to Glasgow, that was the Hoe to Plymouth of old. From it, let us never forget, on a memorable day of 1588, the “Invincible” Armada was sighted; that proud fleet which was to conquer England, and place the foot of Spain upon our necks, and the spiritual domination of the Pope of Rome over our consciences. History tells us that the King of Spain was not making that unprovoked attack upon us which the simple legends of an earlier and uncritical age would have us believe, and we know that he was but seeking a very natural revenge for the piracies Drake and others had long practised upon his ships and foreign possessions; both sides played the same lawless game, only in those days Spain was the richer country and her treasure galleons the easier prey.
How did Elizabeth’s captains await the coming of the foe? Cheerily and calmly enough, though their ships were few and small, and parsimony at the fountain-head of State forbade the proper measures being taken in the teeth of this long-threatened danger. Stout hearts and ready seamanship, aided by the providential tempest that wrecked the stately ships of Spain, served our turn, and Old England came victorious through that time of storm and stress, as she has since come through many another, by favour of Providence and through the handiwork of brave hearts alone. Statesmanship and the proper preparations of Government had been to seek, as they commonly are. Was ever there another so happy-go-lucky—and so lucky—a country?
I like—and all Englishmen must needs like—to think of the proud spirit of that gallant company of captains assembled upon the Hoe at their game of bowls, when news of the Armada sighted off the Lizard, and coming with the south-westerly wind up Channel, gave them momentary pause. There were gathered together Lord, Howard of Effingham, the Lord High Admiral of England, and with him were Drake, Hawkins, Frobisher, and other great captains, among others of lesser fame. It was like to be a crushing force that was advancing toward our shores, for it numbered no fewer than one hundred and thirty-five men-o’-war, with crews of 8,000 men and 19,000 soldiers. But so confident were that gallant company of their capacity to resist invasion that—so the story from that time has run—on the suggestion of Sir Francis Drake, who boldly asserted that there was plenty time to finish their game first and thrash the Spaniards afterwards, they elected to complete their bout of bowls.
I will not seek the authority upon which that brave old tradition rests, and a malison, I say, upon all who would whittle away our most cherished beliefs. Cold-blooded commentators tell us that the famous expression, “The Old Guard dies, but never surrenders,” was not uttered, and declare, contrary from general belief, that the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo never said, “Up Guards, and at ’em!” and very likely some one, somewhere, has made hash of the heart-stirring tradition of Plymouth Hoe and claimed to prove something craven and mean. Sufficient for me, however, the story with which the Muse of History has hitherto been content.